The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  In the meantime, his plans had temporarily changed. Frisco had stocked his property with food and provisions, but he’d raced with nothing. Now nothing was all he had left. He’d have to use some of his funds to buy a tent, but how did he go about procuring what he needed while still standing guard at his claim?

  His neighbor seemed to recognize his dilemma. The man had a sunny face, a broad smile, and the swagger of a conqueror. “It’s safe to leave the horse,” he said. “No one is going to take it. Look around. There’d be a hundred witnesses if they did.”

  He had a point. With no buildings to hide behind, nothing obstructed the view. Just a bunch of people unloading knapsacks and wagons and trying to make a camp before the spring day came to an end.

  “Do you know whereabouts I could get a tent?” Frisco asked. As soon as he took care of business here, he’d go back and deal with Miss Adams. He had no intention of giving up his land, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sleep uncovered tonight.

  “No, sir. There’s not exactly a town map or city directory.”

  A pity, because Frisco had one for his town.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  His horse’s reins were too short to ground-tie her. Instead Frisco unsaddled her, then piled his gear next to his stake. Borrowing a rope from his neighbor, he tied the horse to the saddle on the ground and prayed that everyone would be as honest as they were claiming. Then he took off down a swath of grass designated as a street. Already there were hand-painted signs propped up against saddles that advertised services. Barber, carpenter, physician. He’d have to put out his own sign advertising his services as a lawyer. Plenty of legal advice would be needed once they started to sort through all the questions concerning the run.

  “You can’t have this land. It’s a street,” an angry voice exclaimed over the melee.

  Frisco looked to the side to see a covered wagon with an elderly man at the reins. “I don’t aim to live here,” the man said. “I’m just selling my goods.”

  True enough, his wagon rode low and heavy. The canvas was painted with the words Wilton’s Mercantile. With a snap, the canvas side of the wagon broke loose as a young lady rolled it up to display her wares. She wore a flashy silk dress and a flashier smile. Frisco smiled in recognition. What did you know? He might be a stranger here, but he was among friends.

  “C’mon over and see what the peddler has brought,” she sang. “If you don’t get it now, we’ll be gone, and you’ll have naught.”

  The man who’d stood in their way stepped back. “As long as you’re not planning to stay.”

  “No, sir,” said the old gent. “My granddaughter and I will sell what we can, then move on. We’d rather take our quick profit than stick around and civilize this forsaken corner.”

  “What have you got?” The man looked cool and collected in his cassimere suit. Like he’d just stepped out of an office, not like he’d just run a race.

  “Oh, a little bit of everything.” The young woman smiled encouragingly. When she caught Frisco’s eye, she didn’t falter. Sophie’s show must go on. “What are you looking for?” she asked the clerk.

  “That depends on your prices,” he answered.

  She bared her teeth. “It’s half past noon, and it’s unlikely you’ve had anything to eat. Grab one of my delicious sandwiches for twenty cents and fill your stomach.”

  “That’s robbery,” he said. “I’ll have you know I’m a deputy, and I don’t appreciate you gouging people like that.”

  He was a deputy? Frisco took in his getup from his derby hat to his leather boots with the opera toe. He didn’t look like any lawman Frisco had ever met in the territory, but he’d heard they were hiring them by the dozen to have on hand for the race.

  Sophie’s smile dripped with innocence. “You’re a deputy now? Ain’t that something? Last I heard, you dealt in property. Well, overpriced sandwiches aren’t a crime, but it would be a crime to go to bed hungry tonight. Isn’t that right, Ike?”

  Either the man’s neck had seen too much sun or Sophie was getting his goat. Leave it to Sophie Smith to know every man in the crowd. She’d always been one of those people who came out on top.

  “Just one sandwich,” the deputy said at last. After taking it, he decided to keep the peace like he’d been hired to do. “This will be the best dinner I’ve had in a month. We’re fortunate to have you here in Plainview.” He dropped his coins on the side of the wagon that served as her counter.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “We’ll rest easy knowing that lawmen like you are protecting the territory.” She bit her ruby lip until he strode away, then turned to Frisco. “Frisco Smith, you old goat. Get up here and give me a kiss.” Bending at the waist, she flung herself across the countertop to hug Frisco’s neck.

  Nearly choking on her scented powder, Frisco dutifully smacked her painted cheek, then helped push her up to regain her footing in the wagon.

  “Sophie Smith—or is it Sophie Wilton?” he asked. “You’ve acquired a grandpa since I last saw you.”

  “He’s my husband, but we sell more merchandise with me being single.” She beamed. “Let me get a look at you. My, what a fine-looking man you’ve become. You don’t have any need for a wife, do you? Most days Wilton would be glad to be rid of me.”

  Frisco tamped down the pity that threatened to arise. Sophie wouldn’t know what to do with it. Instead he shrugged. “All I’ve got to offer a woman is a piece of empty ground back there. Looks like you’re running a better deal with Mr. Wilton.”

  “It’s a fine life on the road, and from the looks of it, you’ve done yourself flush as well. Still a will-o’-the-wisp looking for adventure? You’ll never settle down, Frisco Smith. No use driving a stake today when the road will always beckon.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Although he knew she wasn’t. To the outsider it might look like he was always hunting for adventure, but really he was hunting for home. And he’d thought he’d found it, until Caroline stole it from him. “But even on the road I need somewhere to sleep. You wouldn’t happen to have a tent in there, would you?”

  The wagon squawked as Wilton joined her in the back. “Did you ask for a tent, young man? We wouldn’t come to this hullabaloo without tents. My granddaughter has just the thing for you.” Then he leaned closer and whispered, “You’ve got to try her sandwiches.”

  The thought of the stocked shelves of food back at his homestead made Frisco’s jaw clench. The frantic pace of the day hadn’t allowed him to think through all he had lost on his property. But he hadn’t lost it. He couldn’t. People were counting on him. He’d get it back from Caroline immediately.

  The exchange was made, and Frisco walked off with a tent, food, and well-wishes from another friend from his past at the foundling house. He shouldn’t be surprised to see so many of them here. If anyone was in need of a fresh start, it was those who’d had to overcome a poor beginning.

  He had just put up the tent when he heard a ruckus down the road—if the grassy pathway could be called a road yet. A man with a megaphone was announcing some upcoming elections.

  “If you have any interest in selecting a governing body, then meet at the barber pole. We’ll elect a council today so that the town of Plainview can commence organizing.”

  Plainview? That was what the deputy had called it too. Redhawk was a better name—majestic, noble, brave. Frisco couldn’t settle in a place called Plainview—it lacked allure—yet he might learn something from watching the election proceedings. After all, he’d have elections in Redhawk once he got his land back.

  A row of men stood before a wall of pallets that had been nailed together. Were they the candidates? How were they chosen already? The whole affair seemed fishy, but Frisco would bite his tongue and observe before rushing to judgment.

  A short, spare man with a pointed beard waved his hand over his head. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We’re going to elect your city council today. That council will choose a mayor so we can begin organizing. Now, th
ese fine men here have consented to be the candidates.”

  Frisco’s eyes narrowed. Consented to being candidates? That wasn’t how he’d planned it for his town. Limiting the choices before everyone had a chance to take stock? Before he could stop himself, he called out, “Why those men? Who picked them?”

  The pointy white beard jutted straight toward him. “These are all fine men, but if you want to be considered for a post . . .” He turned to get approval from the men behind him. There was some shuffling of feet, some furtive glances with weak nods. “Yes, if you’d like to join the candidates . . .”

  Frisco crossed his arms, feeling the buckskin when he should have felt a suit. So much for biting his tongue. “I don’t have any reason to do that. Just asking a question.”

  “Is that you, Frisco?” Mr. Cotton from Purcell sauntered up. “Y’all should listen to him. He’s the boss man around here.”

  “Tom,” Frisco said, “I only have a claim here. This isn’t Redhawk. Soon I’ll get—”

  “Frisco Smith?” A man stepped out of the lineup of candidates. It was the same man Sophie had embarrassed. “I’ve heard of you. Did you used to frequent Wichita, booming for this day?”

  Frisco turned from Tom’s confusion to answer. “That was me, but I have no dog in this fight. I’m just here as a spectator.”

  “We could use a man of your talents. C’mon up.” The man put a hand on Frisco’s shoulder and nearly shouted in his ear. “Folks, this is Frisco Smith, a solicitor from Kansas who petitioned for the opening of these lands to homesteaders. If he wants to join the candidates, he’s welcome—”

  “And uninterested.” Frisco removed the man’s hand. “As I said, I’m a spectator, and I don’t know any of you, so I couldn’t speak to your qualifications or lack thereof. I only asked who’d chosen the candidates. It seems that every landowner should be included in the process.”

  Murmurs were starting in the crowd, and Frisco had worked a crowd enough to know that the tide was turning. Why did he care? It wasn’t his town or any of his business, but he recognized a fix when he saw it. Had these men had their way, the vote would’ve been over and done with before the others had time to wonder why they’d voted the way they had.

  “Old Bill Matthews here is an honest man.” A rancher was thrust forward. He stood looking humbly at his feet as his friend kept talking. “If any of you are from up Sedalia way, you’ve heard of his family. He’d make a fine representative.”

  “I can vouch for him,” another voice said over the din.

  And just like that, the natural inclination of Americans to govern themselves had been reasserted. Frisco had accomplished that much at least, but it didn’t ease his frustration. Tom Cotton hadn’t purchased a Redhawk lot from him, but it wouldn’t be long before he ran into someone who had. He had to have an answer.

  Back at his lot, he sat on the ground, leaning against his traveling bag and eating his sandwich from Sophie. The elections were completed. Men were going back to their plots to prepare for evening, but all he could think about was what was happening on his land. What if Caroline lost it? What if some bully came around and ran her off before morning? His stomach turned. She didn’t know what she was doing. She wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead.

  But neither were most of the settlers in Plainview. You couldn’t survive eating the grass beneath you. They had to have money to spend, and everything would cost a premium until regular commerce was established. Two men had immediately begun digging a well on their property and now were charging five cents per cup of water. People were paying too. It was either that or walk to the river, and that was likely to cost, if the man who owned that plot ever thought of charging passage. Even firewood came at a price, but Frisco wasn’t ready to hand over more valuable coins for it. Not yet, because a plan was forming.

  He couldn’t fathom what Miss Adams proposed to do with one hundred and sixty acres of prairie. He couldn’t fathom how she’d even claimed it before he got there, but if she insisted on taking part in this venture, here was something he had to offer—a nice town lot in the booming metropolis of Plainview. He would wait a few days, make sure all the drifters had cleared out, and then offer her a trade. Wouldn’t she rather be in town? It made more sense. Her stubbornness would be the only reason for her to reject the offer.

  “Mr. Smith?”

  Frisco shaded his eyes against the strength of the sun as he tried to see who was talking to him.

  “I’m Ike McFarland, a deputy here. I wanted to thank you for your insight back there at the election.”

  It was the deputy who looked like a clerk. Frisco stood and, after a moment’s hesitation, offered his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Deputy McFarland. I hope I didn’t stir up a cyclone.”

  “Not at all. Some of the boys just got a little ahead of themselves, but they’re satisfied with the outcome. The council includes a few people we hadn’t counted on, but it’s a good mix.”

  “We? Who is we?” Frisco asked.

  “I heard you had designs for your own town. What are you doing here?”

  “When I got to my plot, someone was already there.”

  “Really?” Ike looked over his shoulder. “As a deputy, it’s my duty to turn in evidence against those who were here without authorization. Where’s your land? We could help you get it back, and you could go on with your plans.”

  “I have a list full of names,” Frisco said. “Since this morning I’ve been making a record of those who waited at the line and those who left before dawn. During the run itself, I noted lots that were peopled before it was physically possible for someone to be there.” He fixed the deputy in his gaze. If there was anything he was suspicious about, it was this town, but the deputy didn’t falter.

  “Good man. That’s exactly the kind of record we need to compile to sort this mess out. Do you have that list with you?”

  Frisco rested his hand on his traveling case. He had to turn it in to someone, but he’d rather it go to an official of the land office than this green deputy. “Give me some time to make some notes,” he said. “I’ll get it submitted.”

  “Good enough.” With a tip of his derby, McFarland walked away from Frisco’s tent.

  Frisco filled his lungs, already tasting the cook fires that had been started around him. He didn’t need a fire tonight. First thing tomorrow he was going to pay a visit to Miss Adams. But first he needed to make a copy of the list he was going to hand in.

  He reached inside his traveling case and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. Fishing out his crumpled list, he carefully replicated it, marking the location and time of the names—both those who were waiting at the line and those who had disappeared before the gun. He worked chronologically down the paper until he reached the minute the guns sounded and he started meeting sooners who’d crossed early.

  The cheaters didn’t deserve a homestead. There was no way they could have beaten the honest people at the line. If justice truly was blind, it should be meted out without preference or malice. Frisco wasn’t swearing that he had firm evidence against each of them, merely the suspicion that they’d circumvented the rules. Suspected sooners—that was who was on this list. They would have their day in court. They should have to answer for their actions, even if they had a well-connected father.

  But what if he was wrong? What if Caroline had miraculously bested him? She knew the way through the pass, and he’d gotten a late start. Well, she’d have no problem arguing her case if she was honest. If she wasn’t telling the truth, then it would give him another chance at winning back what had been taken from him.

  Frisco only hesitated a second before writing Miss Caroline Adams at the bottom of the paper. He blew on the page to set the ink, then went to find an official who would present the list to the land office.

  Chapter ten

  The way Caroline had to guard her property made her feel like a one-legged man trying to stamp out prairie fires. She couldn’t be everywhere at once, b
ut for the most part the stragglers were coming from the south, so she found herself patrolling that border to turn them around before they got any ideas. Here she was, the possessor of a tract of land that she’d yet to explore, and the mystery excited her.

  She’d been up and down the east bank of the river, which looked steep enough to prevent flooding but gentle enough to travel easily. The land was capped with a majestic apex near the center of the property, the natural place in Caroline’s opinion to build a house, but would it be the best place for a boardinghouse? Where exactly would the railroad come through? She needed to see if there were maps at the fort before she picked the perfect spot. Would the railroad company buy part of her land for a depot? Perhaps that would give her the funds to start construction.

  On the northern riverbed, she found ragged ravines. Caroline was the child who’d never gone to sleep without first looking under the bed and behind the curtains—a tendency made stronger by her ornery sister’s pranks—and unexplored areas were bothersome to her peace of mind. Before nightfall, she’d have to hop down in each ravine and see what it held. Only a girl who’d grown up on the prairie would feel such anxiety when her view was obstructed, but Caroline wasn’t one to shirk from the question. She’d explore as soon as she was convinced no one else was coming.

  Honestly, she hadn’t had much trouble convincing the men to keep moving. The fact that there was already a garden in helped settle the debate of whether she’d been the first one there or not. Several had less than kind words for her, assuming that she’d cheated and had been hiding there early, but she knew the charges were false and that she had witnesses to vouch for her. She hoped that Amber was able to settle her disputes as easily.